A Life of Broken Things
by Back-From-A-Guilt-Trip
Summary: Taffyta, who has been diagnosed with schizophrenia, is cruelly haunted by the past while left alone in her house. One-shot. Warning: Contains some disturbing content.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Wreck-It Ralph.

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**A Life of Broken Things**

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"Taffyta," Candlehead addressed her friend gently. "I'm going to step out to buy a few things. Are you gonna be okay on your own for half an hour?"

Taffyta, whose mind had drifted elsewhere, didn't seem to hear her, so Candlehead had to repeat her question. She got a nod of confirmation, but no vocal reply. Taffyta didn't even look at her.

"Do something to keep busy while I'm gone," Candlehead advised her. "Write in your journal, or polish your trophies. Keep your mind occupied. You know what Dr. Mario said."

Another nod. Candlehead tried not to sigh. Being Taffyta's caretaker was hard, frustrating work, but she did it because no one else would, and because she clung to the hope that somewhere within this shell of a girl was her best friend, the confidant queen of racing that Taffyta Muttonfudge had been before she'd gotten sick. But as the months rolled on, this seemed more and more unlikely. The pills, the biweekly therapy sessions, and the quieter lifestyle prescribed by Dr. Mario had succeeded in making Taffyta calm, but whether or not she would ever be the same person again was a different matter altogether.

Candlehead hated leaving Taffyta alone, but they desperately needed groceries and toilet paper, and errands took twice as long when she brought Taffyta along. Before stepping out, she made sure that all the sharp objects in the house were safely locked up and that the entrance to the kitchen was blocked so that Taffyta wouldn't go in there and fiddle with the knobs on the stove. Such precautions weren't _entirely_ necessary, but Candlehead didn't want to take any chances. When she was certain that her charge would be able to handle herself for a short while, she stepped out of Taffyta's strawberry shortcake house and into the sunlight and fresh air. She quickly wiped away the tears welling up in her eyes. She had to put on a brave face, for both of them.

Back inside the house, Taffyta stayed on the couch where Candlehead had left her. She looked around her living room, feeling ill at ease in that homey space that she had decorated with her own hands many years ago. Was that her pink and white stripped wallpaper? Was that her taffy carpet and cookie coffee table? Who put that bouquet of pink sugar roses there? She didn't remember buying sugar roses. Candlehead must have put them there, to make the place seem cheerier, less like a gilded prison. Taffyta didn't really like her house that much anymore. She wanted to move, but Dr. Mario insisted that moving would be a bad idea. Familiarity was good for her. She was in no condition to get used to a new home.

Her condition had an official name: schizophrenia. It had started over a year ago, when she started struggling with her driving because she had trouble concentrating. From there it had all gone downhill. The random bouts of unexplained fear and agitation, her withdrawal from the company of the other racers, her sleepless nights, her sluggishness, her neglecting to eat and bathe properly…it had all led up to that one tragic day where she lashed out at Fix-It Felix Jr. and accused him of being Turbo in disguise.

She had heard King Candy's voice come out of the kindly handyman's mouth. She really had. She insisted to the others that it was true, but they didn't believe her. Three days later, Sour Bill found Taffyta in the castle, having a furious one-sided argument with King Candy's empty throne. Somehow, she had slipped past the guards.

"Don't you see him?! He's_ right there!_" A tearful Taffyta had shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the vacant throne. "He thinks he's still in charge! He's not listening to me!"

Sour Bill only sighed and shook his head. Taffyta was escorted back to her home, and Vanellope immediately sent for Dr. Mario. At that point there was no doubt that there was something seriously wrong with her friend.

For Taffyta, being pulled out of the races and confined to her house was like the end of the world. Now that she was too sick to fulfill her one purpose, she fell into a state of perpetual disorder. Nothing made sense to her anymore. Nothing made getting up in the morning worth the effort. She lived an automated life. She only did as she was told; she ate and cleaned her house with Candlehead and diligently took her pills, but she never felt any better. She never felt like herself. She was only getting better at behaving like a good little patient and following orders.

Candlehead had ordered her to do something to keep busy, so Taffyta felt obliged to obey. If she didn't, her inactivity would be reported to Dr. Mario, and she would have to explain it in length during a therapy session, which would be boring. She had to do something. She didn't feel like writing in her journal. She didn't have anything new to record on paper. So she would polish her trophies, and make them gleam.

But today was not her day (it hadn't been her day in a long time). While polishing an older trophy, one of the handles snapped right off. The Taffyta she had been would have thrown a fit over such a mishap. The Taffyta she was now just stared down at the detached handle in her gloved hand with a blank expression, as if she didn't quite understand what just happened.

"What a shame," a faint, lisping voice said. "I remember when you won that trophy. It was the Sugar Pix summer tournament of 1999. I was a close second. Just two points behind."

Wearily, Taffyta lifted her head to face the voice's owner. He was looking out at her from the mirror on the living room wall. He only ever appeared to her when she was alone. The coward.

"Go away. I'm not in the mood for this right now." She spoke so quietly that she was almost whispering.

She knew that he wasn't actually King Candy. King Candy was dead. The man in the mirror was a hallucination, conjured up by her own imbalanced mind. Her friends and Dr. Mario consistently reminded her of that fact. She often had to remind herself as well.

"Why didn't you race today?" the man in the mirror asked her.

"What part of 'go away' do you not understand?"

"You can make me leave at any time. Too bad your mind's not strong enough to do it." He was mocking her, even though it was all his fault that her mind was corrupted beyond repair. He had messed with her memories, filled her head with toxic lies, manipulated her, _used her._ She didn't know what was real and what wasn't real anymore, because of him.

"Oh, Taffykins, what's happened to you?" the hallucination went on. "You were once the strongest out of all of them. I could always rely on you to get things done."

"You made me a bully," she said without emotion, looking down at her broken trophy. It wasn't even a trophy anymore. Now it was just a heavy chunk of metal. "You made me a monster, just like you."

He shrugged. "You would have been one without or without my help. I saw your code up close, you know. The programmers meant for you to be cruel. All I had to do was gently nudge you in the glitch's direction. You did the rest all on your own."

Taffyta didn't reply.

"So why didn't you race today?"

"I haven't raced all year."

"Yes, but why didn't you race _today?_"

"You know why."

"Because the glitch and Dr. Mustache said you couldn't?"

Taffyta glared at him. "I'm sick because of you, you turd. Go away."

He laughed. It was an infuriating laugh. It was enough to awaken a long-extinguished fire within her. With a sudden, ferocious screech, Taffyta hurled the broken trophy at the mirror and smashed King Candy's face into pieces.

When Candlehead came home, she found the floor littered with glass, and a broken trophy was lying against the fallen mirror. Then, when she saw Taffyta, she screamed.


End file.
